Dark, Flaming Disaster
by DisturbedMurders
Summary: A short narrative set in the perspective of a "dark" version of Takuya Kanbara. Contains character death (nothing descriptive) and mentions of Takuya/Kouji/Kouichi


"Dark, Flaming Disaster"

I'm not sure where it all went wrong, honestly. I suppose it's when the Trailmon crossed over the borders of Japan and into the Digital World. It might have been when Izumi, Junpei, Tomoki and I were all thrown out of our seats and onto the cold, hard floor of the train car. Maybe it had started when we were chosen to become Legendary Warriors. Maybe it had started when I felt that darkness surge through me, infecting me, morphing me.

I don't know—and a part of me wonders if I ever will.

All I do know is that I'm never going to be who I was. I was dark, diseased, angry. I would never be the optimistic tween who played video games with his brother—of course, I would never play video games with Shinya again. He was dead and it was entirely my fault. I had been responsible for his death. It was stupid of me to let my spirits get out of control, but I had been so filled with rage that I had just let my beast spirit take over. Fire had overtaken our house; Okaa-san and Otou-san were out at dinner. It had been just Shinya and I.

His body had been burnt to a crisp. Nothing remained to identify him but the baby teeth he had left. Except me. I remained. I could tell them what had happened, even if they'd never believe me.

I didn't.

I kept my role in his death a secret. I told them that Shinya had been locked in his room, probably playing with Otou-san's lighter. I told them that when I smelled the smoke, I ran to his room, but the doorknob had been too hot to open. I told them I'd tried and tried and tried, but I couldn't get in.

I bore this burden myself, until my relationship with Kouji Minamoto and Kouichi Kimura developed. Twins, they were inseparable. They could not live without the other. They were like light and dark—literally. Kouji wielded the Spirits of Light, while Kouichi took the form of the corrupted Warrior of Darkness, Duskmon. They had become my best friends, my lifeline. They kept me afloat when all I wanted to do was drown in the darkness that I am inflicted with.

They were the only one to know about my scar. I'd received it in a battle, but covered it with make-up. Damaged skin, it took up a little less than the right side of my face. It was hideous, a reminder of the things I had done and the person I'd become. Kouji had been horrified by it. Kouichi was happy with it, describing my scar in the oddest of ways.

"It represents a darkness of your past," he'd stated, cold, dead eyes staring at me. "A memory that keeps you and holds you here; something physical that won't disappear or slip away. It's anger and darkness, written all over your face."

He'd acted as if my scar was something to be proud of, as if I should accept my new self. But, still, he never let me bare my scar to anyone but himself and his twin—not that I'd let anyone else see it either. They didn't need to see. It wasn't important.

In a way, I had accepted my fate. I didn't try to change it. I didn't try to fight my inner demons—I became allies with them instead. When Kouji had disappeared without a trace, my demons only multiplied, but Kouichi stayed. He stayed and he cared for me and he kept me sane. He'd done so many things and more to save me from the anger and depression that threatened to swallow me whole. He'd stayed, not because he needed someone grounded to exist (he was more an entity than anything), but because he cared for me. I was forever grateful for his acceptance. Slowly, it had turned into more than comfort. Despite the oddity of being infatuated with an undead teenager, despite the problem of being the same gender, I had fallen in love with the corrupted boy.

Even if I crushed his heart and burnt it until it crumbled away into ash, he would stay with me. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to.

I think that's the only thing that keeps me sane. He loves me and I love him.

So when I open my eyes to the dimly lit room and see him sitting beside me, unmoving, a cup of black coffee in his hands, I thank and kiss him. He just blinks at me, though I know he's pleased with the sign of affection. He's all that I've got and I'm all that he's got. Without each other, we're alone. It's funny, really. There are only six of us who can truly understand the other—well, five now, since Kouji's gone. In a world of 6 billion people, there are only four other people in the world who can truly understand me. Even though that's true, I'm still the same.

I'm still a dark, flaming disaster.


End file.
